Dragonchild
by vacant houses
Summary: AU. Morrigan's ritual comes at a different price, Night's humanity. Spans from the end of DA:O through DA:A and beyond. Discontinued. See author's note inside.


**Dragonchild status:** I've taken most of it off the site because, quite frankly, it's not a very good story. I wrote it despite every bit of me protesting that it wasn't a good story, that it was something that belonged in my head and not anywhere else, that I was fangirling TOO much about Alistair and should not be writing a story for that reason alone. I might finish it someday, who knows. I've also compressed most of the writing together, it shouldn't have been spread out in such short chapters, I guess that's how it felt in my head but reading it that way was just stupid. I've just been too lazy to fix it.

I stopped writing it because I lost part of the file and didn't want to re-write and I'm not as interested in DA anymore, especially since I didn't really like the DA 2 plot but Dragonchild was near the end anyways.

Feel free to PM me for a copy of the rest of it (i.e, the remaining 20,000 words). If you are really, really interested in the story and want to try finishing it off, I can tell you what I was thinking about going plot-wise but please let me know and give credit to my writing.

Disclaimer: DA - Not mine.

* * *

_"I have a plan, you see. A way out. A loop in your hole."_

* * *

"Night?" Alistair's concerned voice pounded into her head as though from a great distance. She groaned and opened her eyes, fighting the crushing headache that threatened to send her back to sweet oblivion, to find Alistair looming above her, still dressed in his armour.

"Maker's breath, I leave you alone for five seconds and you manage to knock yourself out!" Alistair was far too chirpy for her pounding head and she sent a silent prayer to which ever gods would listen, Maker or Old Gods or otherwise, that lightening would somehow strike him down where he stood. "Is this new darkspawn fighting tactic that you're practicing? Playing dead so they'll leave you alone? If so, then you might have overdone it a bit."

Night opened her mouth to come up with a witty, biting remark and managed to come up a half slurred, "Shut up."

Definitely not one of her best retorts.

The almost templar let out a bark of laughter, but she heard the sheer relief in his voice. "Well, I see your sparkling personality is still intact. Why did you decide to give yourself a concussion and how?"

Night ignored the question, instead she reached inside herself for her magic, pulling it up and focused it into smothering the headache, healing magic had never been her best talent back at the tower but life as a Grey Warden had sent her scrambling to rectify that quickly. She was nowhere as good as Wynne but her skills would see her through most battles.

As the pain receded, a flood of memories returned, Riordan, explaining how to kill an archdemon, then, when she returned to her room, she found Morrigan waiting.

Morrigan…

Morrigan, who explained she had a way to keep her from dying tomorrow, the true reason Flemeth had sent her with them. From keeping all Grey Wardens from dying. Her, Alistair and Riordan.

The memories got fuzzy from there. She remembered asking for more details and then Morrigan had said…had…

"Morrigan!" Night blurted, bolting up and searching the room for the swamp witch who had taken off after…whatever it was that was making the room spin.

"Say what?" Alistair began to glance around himself. "I knew she was going to do something that sneaky…witch sneak!"

"She had a way…" the mage muttered, half dazed. "Said she had a way to keep us from dying tomorrow. And I said…I said…"

Alistair gently turned her head to gaze directly into Night's emerald eyes, grounding her in the here and now. "Easy there. What did she say exactly?"

Night's mouth twisted in thought, and her eyes slid shut as she tried to dredge up half remembered images, the headache she had stifled began to pound ever so slightly at her temple. "She said…that she knew what would happen when we killed the archdemon, that one of us would die," she paused, saying it the words aloud made it all the more real that one of them was going to die tomorrow; such a strange thought that after they had been through, now death was guaranteed for one of them. "And that Flemeth had given her a ritual, the real reason Morrigan had been with us. This ritual would save us, keep us from dying even though we killed the archdemon."

A myriad of expressions flew across Alistair's face, confusion, disbelief and…hope. "But something like that…something that like would come at a cost. It couldn't be that easy. And I know you trust Morrigan and all, Maker knows why, but it just can't be. Did she say what it was?"

The headache was back now, pounding her brain into mushy mess. She tried to call the memory forth but it didn't come. The one piece that would explain why she felt like she had just tried to outdrink Oghren.

"I can't remember," Night answered distantly, never had it been so hard to _think. _"So, I think it's pretty safe to say that I agreed to it."

Alistair's face soured immediately. "I'm sorry, but that sounds like an incredibly dumb suggestion. And I'm saying that strictly from a viewpoint that isn't because-I-hate-Morrigan! There is a tried and tested method of killing archdemons, one admittedly sucks because Riordin will die tomorrow, if we're lucky, one of us, if we're not, and yet, you've decided to put it up to _Morrigan_ to handle it and now we don't even know what it is or what will it do!"

"I'm sorry," the mage snapped. "I wish I could say for certain that I didn't know about the memory loss before I agreed to do whatever it was I agreed to which just might save our lives, even if we don't know how but I'll be sure to ask Morrigan the next time I see her!"

The silence that followed almost immediately prompted Night to an apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell-are you laughing at me Alistair?"

The almost templar had been shaking with laughter but straightened at her accusation. "Me? Laughing?" he wheezed. "Perish the thought! I was just trying to find the logic of your argument. Which I'm not sure there was," Alistair abruptly sobered. "I appreciate that you're trying to keep us alive. But this…well, seems a bit dodgy. Morrigan has done something to you which you can't even remember, assuming that you agreed to this ritual and Morrigan didn't just erase the details from your mind instead because I certainly didn't feel any magic. And the fact that the ritual is Flemeth's? Flemeth who turns into a dragon? Flemeth who is some creepy, creepy abomination? Flemeth, the witch of the wilds? Her? Even if Morrigan truly had any other intentions but a desire to see you safe, Flemeth, I don't trust. So, why don't we go and look for Morrigan and ask her what she did? Do I get to smite her? Please, let me smite her!"

Night let out a brief laugh at his enthusiasm but then a flash of memory tore straight through her. "She's gone," she said quietly.

Alistair tilted his head as he tried to make sense of her words. "Morrigan's…gone?"

"She said that she would leave as soon as it was over. That she couldn't stay to see…what she had done to me," the mage confided quickly, shivering slightly as she tried to focus on those forgotten memories, as they slipped out of her mind.

She felt a faint burst of anger, not her own and she glanced at Alistair as he gnashed his teeth together, trying to keep his rage in check. The development of the mental bond between them had been a surprise, a result of taking their relationship to the next level, the focal being the rose he had given her.

The gesture had surprised her; admittedly she knew Alistair was a romantic, a believer in love and courtship. But the rose he'd picked was clearly of a magical nature, to have grown in lands tainted by the Blight and somehow it had been imbued itself with Alistair's love, probably because it was the emotion he felt when he handled it.

Night had been fascinated by the rose, often at camp; she would probe it with magic, trying to discern its nature. Eventually, however the rose's magic faded and when it began to die, she'd preserved it by freezing the petals in the water permanently, creating two oval, pale pink crystalline pendants. When Alistair had complained about the unmanly colour, she had changed them both to white.

She still didn't know what sort of magic the rose had possessed, but even without her enchantments, the pendants had granted powerful protection and later, when they had taken their relationship to the next step, the links between the pendants slowly began to build a link between the two Grey Wardens.

A link they'd regrettably had to halt the growth of and repress. Alistair, after all, was the future king of Ferelden, if-when they ended the Blight, and whilst he'd decided against ending their relationship, an elvan mage turned Grey Warden was a completely unsuitable partner for the king, there would be enough rumours flying in the days to come and there would undoubtedly be whispers that she controlled his mind.

Somehow, she couldn't see the Chantry as very forgiving if the link was discovered and contact with templars in the future for Alistair, at the very least, was almost a given. If the bond between them increased in strength, templars would notice. Ferelden wouldn't recover if there was a civil war so soon on the heels of the previous one.

"Alistair," she touched his arm gently, ending the uncharacteristic display of anger.

"The fact that she didn't want to see what she had done to you, not that I can see anything different, tells me that she did something pretty bad," Alistair muttered darkly. "You're not an abomination, are you now? Not going to…I don't know, rip my head off and use it as a chamber pot?"

Night shot him a blank look. "Okay, admittedly the toilet habits of abominations aren't that well known so I'm clearly speculating on that part."

"Just. Stop. Talking. Alistair." the mage groaned, Alistair's nervous habit of babbling _whatever_ sometimes could take a disturbing turn. "I'm fine," she added when he began to eye her appraisingly. "A bit dizzy but nothing Wynne can't take care of tomorrow if sleep doesn't."

He helped her to feet. "Right, well you should probably get some rest, two day march to Denerim tomorrow. Killing an archdemon and ending the Blight, we need to be in top shape for that."

Night murmured an affirmative but made no move to leave his embrace. "I suppose I could stay here," he acceded. "Make sure you get that rest. Ooh, I know, we should check that there's nothing wrong with you physically."

The mage arched one fine eyebrow. "We could do that."

* * *

"We should flip a coin," Alistair said as they stopped in front of the door to the roof of Fort Drakon.

"What?" Night shot him an annoyed look as she settled down on the ground, waiting for her mana to replenish.

"To decide who gets to kill the archdemon," he clarified, glancing briefly at Wynne and Oghren as they rested a short distance away, catching their breath, decided it didn't really matter if they overheard Grey Warden secrets because there was a good chance that they would all die in the next few minutes and even if they didn't, well, you don't fight together for two years without developing _some_ form of loyalty to each other.

"It's pretty simple," Night answered with a snort. "You are Ferelden's King, and I know you will whine and complain and hate it but you are a good man and in the position the help a lot of lives which is something you like doing. Me? I'm just an extremely talented mage who had the misfortune to fall in love with you. And since there's a smidgeon of possibility that one of us will die doing this, it will be me. Because I haven't spent the last year and a half trying to stop a civil war only to have my efforts in vain. If you try knocking me out with your damn Templar talents and get yourself killed, I will be pissed."

Alistair let out a short adrenaline fuelled laugh. "This…sucks."

"I know it does."

"I don't want you to die," he said simply.

"I don't want me to die either. Glad we're on the same page."

"I don't want to die but not at the cost of your life."

Night shot him a faintly amused look. "I happen to feel the same way."

"This sucks."

"I'm…terrified," the mage admitted quietly. "But there's a chance that whatever Morrigan did will work. But if it doesn't…I love you, but I can't let you do this. Because you can do so much more if you become king. If I die, I don't want you to let this cripple you. Promise that you will make the most of it. You know a lot more about your people than most kings do; you'll be a good king."

"That's easy for you to say," Alistair remarked bitterly. "You won't have to be the one who has to live and move on."

Night sighed and slumped unhappily against the wall, listening to the sounds of the battle, people were dying out there, they'd need to move and end this soon. But there were things she needed to say that the bustle of the last week had kept her from saying. "I don't doubt that Anora would have been able to run Ferelden fine."

"Then why did you pick me to be king?" Alistair asked, frowning at her in confusion.

"Because she wouldn't have changed things. My decision wasn't made as a Grey Warden. It was made as a…concerned citizen. Ferelden would have stayed the same, and you and I know that there are things that need changing about it. The only thing that would have changed if you weren't king and just some nobody Grey Warden is that we would be flipping a coin to decide who might possibly be dying."

He let out a brief laugh at that. "I understand," he said at last, and when Night glanced at him their eyes met and she knew he finally did know what she meant.

She had been worried, he hadn't really accepted her confidence that he'd be a good king because she knew his self esteem had crawled into a hole somewhere and buried itself after Duncan's death. Night had been left to deal with raising an army and stopping a civil war when Alistair was the Senior Warden between them. She could have resented him easily for it, for him depending on her to make the right decisions when she was only a freshly harrowed mage who had only the basic understandings of life outside the circle.

But she didn't. It was hard to, knowing Alistair as well as she did.

Alistair climbed to his feet, too many emotions fighting to control his face at once. "I-" He hesitated then pulled her up into his arms, kissing her and then sent the words soundlessly through their bond.

_I love you. And for the first time ever, I'm putting my faith in Morrigan._

* * *

The fight with the archdemon was long. Time seemed to stretch on forever as they whittled away at its life force. Night felt like her entire life had been spent here on the battlefield. Dodging gouts of purple flame, burning, freezing darkspawn, downing lyrium like there was none tomorrow, which if, they failed, there wouldn't be. They had exhausted their supply of poultices and Wynne was often hard-pressed to quickly scramble some together.

Each moment seemed to slow down, possibly because she knew that she could be dying any second now and wanted to make things last.

And then things started to speed up, the archdemon was on the ground, screaming its death throes and she knew this was it.

She caught Alistair's eye as she picked up a sword on the ground, saw him close his for a brief moment before he steeled himself to watch as she drove the sword through the archdemon's head.

A wave of dark energy pulsed out from the dragon's dying body, encapsulating Night and suddenly Alistair couldn't breath. He could only watch helplessly as it clung to her, seeping into her body.

When she started to fall, he raced over, catching her before she could hit the ground, hissing quietly as the impact reminded him of the numerous injuries he'd taken. The darkness gathered itself into her body. For a few harsh moments, Night's body was deathly still.

Then, it released her, rolling out of her in great waves. Alistair shuddered as it went past him, his guts twisting as it did whenever he felt the taint. But that wasn't all of it, he could still sense _something_ had remained inside Night, crawling around inside her and he didn't know what it was or what was happening.

She wasn't breathing.

The realisation snapped his self control and he instinctively reached out for her mind.

_Hot, white hot, burning, screaming, pain, agony, joy, hurt, love, hatred-_

He yanked himself out of her head before it could overwhelm him but even the briefest touch had reached him.

Alistair's vision spun and he watched vacantly as Wynne and Oghren arrived, lips forming words he couldn't hear, a dull roaring in his ears. He wavered and Oghren quickly reached up to support their combined weight.

The roaring grew deeper and his vision began to fade. He felt Night slip from his grasp and he gladly let slip his hold on his consciousness.

* * *

He awoke to the smell of cheese.

"Praise the Maker," Alistair muttered as he sat up and caught sight of Wynne sitting at the edge of the bed, a plate full of cheese and bread in her grasp.

"I must say, young man, it's a relief to see you're awake," the elderly mage replied, handing the plate over. "You've been asleep for two days."

"I could marry you Wynne," he teased as he picked up a chunk, then the full impact of his words caught up with him and he froze. "Night."

Wynne gave a small smile and patted his shoulder. "She lives," Wynne answered quietly. "Though I understand you both were not expecting this outcome."

Damn Wynne, he knew that little would escape her observation. But he also knew she could be trusted, every member of their little band of warriors could…maybe with the exception of Zevran and…Morrigan.

Maybe just Zevran. Morrigan had promised a way out and Night had survived.

For the first and perhaps the last time ever, he said a silent thank you to her.

"To kill an archdemon's soul, a Grey Warden must die," he replied, answering the unspoken question. "That's the only way to ensure the Blight ends."

Wynne settled back, eying him speculatively as she pondered the meaning of this new information. "And yet Night lives. Is this the reason Morrigan left?"

_Damn, _Wynne was far too sharp for his own good. "Morrigan approached Night with an offer; she knew a ritual that would ensure that the Grey Warden who killed the archdemon would live. I never even sensed any magic and Night doesn't even remember what Morrigan did, so I guess her survival confirms that Night agreed to whatever it was Morrigan did. But the whole thing, well, makes me uneasy. A loop hole like that can't be good; otherwise someone would have used it before."

"I see," Wynne paused and Alistair had the sinking feeling that what she would next say would confirm his feelings about the matter all along. "Oghren did not see this because he is not magical inclined, and probably only half sober at the time," she added under her breath, "But when Night struck the killing blow, the archdemon's essence was absorbed into her. I imagine that under normal circumstances, Night would have died instantly, taking the archdemon's soul with her and ending the Blight. Instead, the taint of the archdemon was dissipated and released from her body. Most mages wouldn't have recognised what the taint for what it was, but as a healer, I have come to."

Alistair's head shot up and he sprayed his bed with cheese. "Are you telling me the Old God is contained within Night's body?"

"I do not know what has happened to her. I saw something, white and burning and it touched Night and…_changed_ her. Then it faded away and all that left was Night, and nothing was different about her, both physically and mentally. Her essence is still the same, she is not an abomination nor an Old God and yet, something is _different. _I cannot put my finger on it but when you see her, you'll understand."

The templar's memories flashed back to that night and he remembered the thing he'd found within Night's mind, white hot and burning and he shivered. "However, after that, the darkspawn fled, no longer co-ordinated and motivated, so it is a safe assumption that the Blight has ended. Something did die on that rooftop, though I do not know whether it was the archdemon or an Old God."

They had done it. The thought blew his mind. After everything they'd been through, he'd never quite brought himself up to believe that they would make it through. That they would both live. And yet they had done it. They had fought and they had won.

A burst of hysterical laughter found its way past his throat, even though his ribs were aching. Wynne gave a patient smile, though sadness still lurked within her eyes then reached out again and tapped his arm. "You've done well, Your Majesty."

And just like that, his laughter died immediately. Oh, yeah, that.

He was king.

"I have had many discussions with Night on this topic," Wynne said thoughtfully. "The wisdom of indulging in love when one has duties and responsibilities. At that time, we spoke of her duties as a Grey Warden and if they came into conflict with your relationship. After observing the two of you managing both, I was convinced it was merely an old woman's worries and I accepted it. And now, I'm truly conflicted as to what advice I can give you. Your responsibilities as a King are different to those of a Grey Warden's. The Chantry would never allow a marriage to a mage. Ferelden would not accept a common elf as its queen."

Alistair sighed as the weight of his worries caught up to him. "So what do you suggest I should do Wynne?" he asked, not bothering to hide his aggravation.

He'd never seen the elderly mage at a loss. "I do not know," she answered simply, with a defeated shrug.

With that, she climbed to her feet. "I should let them know you're awake," Wynne said quietly, patting his shoulder once more as she left the room. "And don't leave your bed, you haven't recovered just yet."

Alistair sighed as he leant backwards, his gaze quickly flicking over the room. It was too richly furnished for his tastes but after spending a year and a half camping out in the open, the soft bed was a welcome change.

He'd fallen into gazing contemplatively at the cheese when he heard the sound of footsteps, a lot of them.

Arl Eamon was the first through the door and the new king gave a pleased grin at the sight of his uncle, Eamon looked like he'd made a full recovery from his poisoning at last. His grin wavered a bit at the thought Eamon as his advisor, he knew how Eamon worked and it filled him with dread.

"Your Majesty," Eamon nodded respectfully and backed away. His brother, Teagan, had no such restraint and Alistair was swept into a relieved hug.

"You had us worried, Alistair," Teagan laughed as he stepped back. "Anora's supporters have been clamouring that you died and we were hiding the body."

"Hide my body," Alistair gave a snort. "You'd deny Ferelden my rakish good looks?"

He frowned when he realised no more people were entering the room. "Um, where is everyone else?"

The templar desperately wanted to demand where Night was but at the same time, he was afraid to see this change Wynne had hinted at. "Wynne has been very firm about the amount of excitement and visitors you're permitted to have. She's not entirely sure how you managed to get through the battle with all the injuries you had when they finally peeled off your armour," Teagan explained.

"I know you're anxious to see your friends, we'll send them in next, we just needed to see you first so we could go and tell the court that you are alive and well," Eamon afforded Alistair a rare smile. "Enjoy yourself, the politics will come later."

As Alistair's two uncles left the room, Wynne quietly slipped in and gave Alistair a small smile, then pushed the door fully open. Mangy, Night's mabari, gave an excited bark and Alistair tensed, hoping the dog didn't jump on him, he was vaguely aware of that Wynne's magic was keeping him from feeling every cut and bruise but that would quickly change with a mabari on top of him.

Thankfully, Mangy had the good sense of restraint and instead choose to pound over to the head of the bed and lick his face. Charming.

"Please, don't ever do that again," he begged the dog, after Leliana had rescued him from Mangy's ministrations, privately swearing to himself that he'd get the bard something nice and see if he could convince Night to get the dog neutered in revenge.

Morrigan, of course, was not there. Neither was Shale nor Sten but that didn't surprise him, they weren't exactly the sociable sort. Oghren had stumbled into the room, blearily eyed and mumbling to himself. Zevran's absence probably meant the assassin was off familiarising himself with the palace in the odd chance he ever had a contract here.

Night, herself, was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, Alistair this is so exciting, you are a king now," Leliana gushed in her amiable manner. Noticing his searching gaze, she leant forward and whispered, "She said she would see you alone. But you must know, something…changed her, perhaps the Maker saw fit to bless her with his touch."

"Pike twirler," Oghren grunted, stumbling towards the bed, "Gotta say, you Fereldens know your ale. And why didn't you Grey Wardens tell us about the, the sparkly effects, you know, when the archdemon…"

The dwarf slumped to the ground, snoring gently. "He's been drinking non-stop since the rooftop, trying to forget it," Leliana confided quietly, Alistair was startled at the change of tone; the bard was never this…serious.

She was probably angry.

"I know that something has happened to Night when she killed the archdemon but neither she nor Wynne will tell me what really happened," she crossed her arms and glared at the unfortunate king at her mercy. "Night is a treasured friend and I do not appreciate people hiding the truth from me."

Yep, definitely angry.

"Um, so what makes you think I have any answers?"

Angry women made him nervous. Actually, they made him afraid, but he was never going to admit that. Nervous was a smart and acceptable response given the women he had travelled with. Morrigan was downright scary and nobody of Night's quiet disposition should be able to launch fireballs that large. On the one occasion she'd lost her temper (thankfully they were battling darkspawn at the time) her anger had expressed itself as a furious electrical hailstorm and he hadn't been alone in the response of ducking behind a rock and quivering in terror until it was over.

"You were there, Alistair!"

"I passed out during the fight!" That was a decidedly unmanly thing to say and he was never, ever going to let those words pass his lips again.

"At the end! You would have seen something."

"I still can't tell you anything. All this crazy magic stuff was happening! I'm a templar, not a mage. If Wynne stood in another room and cast every single spell she knew, all I could tell you was that someone was casting a spell."

Leliana had brightened at his words and he quickly replayed his words then cursed himself when he realised that he had confirmed Leliana suspicions. Oh well, at least she'd torture Wynne and Night for the information, he'd let himself of the hook.

Speaking of Wynne, the mage had snuck out of the room while Leliana had been confronting him, probably because she was smart enough to realise how it was going to end.

The bard spun round to demand answers, noticed the mage in question had vanished and sighed. That was when he realised just how worried Leliana was and immediately felt like a total idiot.

"Leliana, I'm sure the reason they didn't tell you is because, well," Alistair shrugged sheepishly, "we don't really know what happened."

"They could have just told me that instead."

"Well, in Night's case, some of it was secret…Grey Warden secret stuff," he said, then realised that wasn't really a good response and shut his mouth.

Hmmm, how to end this conversation and prevent Leliana from wheedling every Grey Warden secret from him? Ah, yes, he was injured wasn't he? Playing up his injuries would distract Leliana and had the added benefit of returning Wynne to Leliana's near vicinity.

Alistair shifted slightly and let out of a pained groan. "Oh, you poor thing, Wynne said you'd need to be careful," thankfully, Leliana was still half crazy (no one sane switched moods that fast) and bought his pathetic play acting, even though he could hear Mangy letting out the doggy equivalent of a snigger somewhere beneath the bed.

That mabari was so getting neutered.

* * *

Oghren had been removed from his room by a pair of guards and Mangy had left to follow Leliana when the bard decided to track Wynne down for answers. Alistair had been revelling in the silence for a few minutes when he picked up on her presence.

He could sense the change in her before she even stepped through the door but he couldn't put his finger on it until he saw her eyes.

They'd always been a brilliant shade of emerald, reflecting the quiet yet vibrant force of her personality.

But this, this was…her eyes were flecked with gold fire. There was a wilderness in her now, Night's magic thrummed through the air with a song that wasn't completely...tamed.

She wasn't quite an elf anymore, it was as though something that was essential to her very being had been altered by the slightest degree. Something that small shouldn't have changed her and she wasn't really different and yet she was. It was confusing, he felt like he shouldn't be able to notice the change and yet it was there.

Nor could he recognise it. It like something he could see in the corner of his eye but when he turned his full attention towards it, it was gone.

Alistair hoped that he was the only one who could sense the difference in her magic. If other templars picked up on it, they could easily flip out and try to kill her, accusing her of being a maleficar.

And that would leave to some very awkward questions.

"Got to admit," Alistair said quietly, "That I never expected us to actually do it, you know. Oh, I know we talked about ending the Blight but I figured we'd die in a melodramatic battle with the archdemon or something of equivalent danger. I never imagined us that it _would _happen."

Night offered one of her hesitant smiles, watching him just as closely as he her. "I know," she said as last and he knew she referred to more than that.

Should he be ashamed just how aware she was to his utterly lack of confidence in himself? She knew how hard it was for him to trust himself to accomplish anything, due to a lifetime of being told he'd amount to nothing, he'd no ambition for himself.

And yet here he was.

"Maker's breath, you're pretty quick to remind me," he groaned. "I don't want to hear anything pertaining to responsibility and duty for the rest of my life," a pause. "Or a more realistic goal for the next few days."

She was studying him again and it felt like a stranger's scrutiny, most unnerving. "So, the roof, the spiffy light effects, what was that?" Alistair prodded her.

Night glanced down at her hands. "I don't know," she confessed. "Something happened, I'm…different now but even I don't know how. Morrigan's ritual worked, I guess."

A frightening combination of words. His stomach tightened at her sentence, Morrigan's ritual had allowed the archdemon, or Old God to change Night. It was possible the elf was harbouring the very thing they'd set out to kill, though he couldn't sense the archdemon from her at all.

"What touched me," Night began hesitantly, "Wasn't the archdemon. There was no taint in it, I remember that much. But that doesn't mean to say it was a good soul…spirit thing. We don't exactly know what the archdemon is before it is tainted."

"Where did you learn to comfort people?" Alistair muttered dryly. "I feel so much better about what happened now."

He was rewarded with another reserved grin. "The Chantry has an excellent course. You learn dehumanize your fellow man as well. But you're not the one who has been altered Alistair. If anything, I'm the one in need of comfort."

Alistair perked at that. "Comfort? I'm sure that even with my injuries, I can manage something," he pulled her close for a deep kiss.

Which ended a minute later when Eamon re-entered the room. "Excuse me," the arl gave an awkward cough as they broke apart, shooting Night a strange look as she backed away from the bed. "If I may have a word in private with the king?"

Night nodded and left the room as silently as she'd entered. Eamon watched her exit for a few moments before shutting the door with a sigh. "Alistair…" he began.

"Not a word about the two of us," the almost templar insisted tiredly. "Well, not today at least. I know you. And no need to be so formal, Eamon, you've known me since I was a child."

"Very well," the arl allowed after a few seconds contemplation. "I need to know what you plan to do with Anora now. There's just been an attempt to free her and her supporters are clamouring for her release."

Alistair settled back into his bed sheets with a groan. "Are you serious? Already?" he paused for a moment, glanced longingly at the door through which Night waited.

_Stop this,_ he told himself firmly. _You're the king, a leader now. I can't look to Night to make all the decisions. Not anymore._

"The easiest way to deal with Anora would be to have her executed," Eamon suggested quietly.

Alistair inwardly blanched at that suggestion. "I want to speak to Anora as soon as possible," he told Eamon. "See what she has to say before I decide anything."

"May I be so bold as to inquire what you're hoping to accomplish with Anora?" Eamon asked.

"If I'm lucky, I'll offer her a job."

Redcliffe's arl shot Alistair a look that suggested he'd been dropped on the head a lot as a baby, pursed his lips, then left the room.

"I can't kill an unarmed, defenceless woman just because it will stabilize Ferelden," he told the empty room. "I can't."

Night stepped into the doorway and watched him silently. He turned his head to her, opened his mouth to ask for her advice then stopped.

They didn't know how long they had together. And it was better for him to start learning now how to make decisions on his own.

The loneliness of the thought scared him.

* * *

Once he'd recovered, his first act as king was to have Anora forego her claim to the throne then instate her as teyrn of Gwaren. As much as he hated the woman, there was no denying she was competent and, with Ferelden just coming out of a civil war and Blight, competence was dearly needed.

His next had been to grant boons to all Grey Warden allies and give Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens themselves.

His decision to christen Night 'the hero of Ferelden," admittedly was an impulsive one, much to his consternation.

He should have taken the time to come up with something much, much better.

Like, The Totally Hot Black Haired Elf Mage Who Saved Everyone's Asses.

Somehow he wasn't sure everyone would approve.

Or maybe something more accurate the Darkspawn Detonator. Night's unfortunate love of the walking bomb spell had often left them covered in darkspawn guts. It had gotten worse when she'd learnt the viral version.

Strangely enough, he preferred getting caught in her fireball spells.

Now, he was standing around and watching the Bannorn very, very carefully as they exchanged greetings with Night, urging her to go speak with the crowd waiting right outside.

At the moment, all was well, smiles and laughter all around. He wondered if he decided to marry her, here and now, when the memory of the Blight was fresh whether they'd object.

But that was an exceedingly bold move, only minutes into his reign….

And yet…

After he' been declared king at the Landsmeet, he'd tried to end their relationship. And Night had listened to him quietly as he listed every reason why he had to and had simply agreed after he'd finished speaking.

And it struck him then, at that moment, a glimpse into Night's very nature.

As a mage, she'd been raised with no expectations, no hopes and dreams. According to the Chantry, her very existence was a sin with no hope of redemption. She would have no husband, no children…no life.

Her decisions to help people were not born of a mistaken hope for redemption. She did so to grant them the opportunities her very birth had robbed her off. Her life as a Grey Warden granted her the chance to serve others best and she approached it with…well, not with enthusiasm, Night was too quiet for that, a keenness that she did not display for her personal life.

And she'd let him end their relationship without a word to give him the chance to make the most of himself and Ferelden.

In that moment, he'd sworn he'd never take advantage of that part of her personality. Night, in general, wasn't a pushover. As the leader of their ragtag group, she'd certainly proven herself capable. She'd listened quietly to their input, emotionlessly contemplate all the information they had, her face never betraying a single thought before she make her decision with a firmness that brooked no argument. She'd managed to worm out all their dubious histories, even Sten's.

And yet, so much of her was unknown. Never one to broadcast emotions or her thoughts, it had taken Night months before she was…confident, no, she was assertive in her own right, comfortable…she'd been at ease with him right from the beginning, despite the irony that he was an…almost templar and she a mage. It was more like the thought to talk more had occurred to her one day and suddenly she was engaging in playful banter with the group.

He'd been the one to (rather nervously) initiate the relationship between them; it had actually been a surprise when she admitted to liking _him _because he'd seen no sign of it before. That should have been the first warning sign, actually, but unfortunately, it had taken the unpleasant attempt of breaking up for him to realise that Night made no attempt to hold onto personal happiness. He knew that she was capable of wanting deeply, she had admitted to being in love with him after all, but he realised that she would never have made a move to start anything between them.

And that scared him.

Had he never confessed his attraction to her, he would have never known how Night felt.

He wouldn't let being a king end them.

Night broke free of the crowd, shot a brief look of pure distaste, _politics, _at him then made her way over to their companions.

Alistair frowned to himself in thought. Zevran and Leliana, he hoped to find some way to keep them around as they were far more accustomed to the inner workings of court life than he was. Wynne, too, could take on the position of court mage. In the coming days into his rule, he knew he'd need all the help he could get and he'd rather be surrounded with people he could trust.

Sten, he knew, would return to his homeland. Oghren…well it was the dwarf's decision as to where he ended up but Alistair preferred somewhere far from him where he couldn't smell him. Shale, too he hoped the golem went somewhere far away. Very far away. The headache he had now, even just thinking about Shale hanging around was not worth it. Even though he suspected that Night immensely enjoyed the golem's company somehow.

Then again, Night had managed to strike up a friendship with _Morrigan _of all people. Night's choice in friendships sometimes were a little abnormal.

Alistair gave a mental cheer when Night reached the door, _finally! _He was rather gleefully that he'd manage to manoeuvre _her _into the whole giving-a-speech-in-front-of-a-crowd thing.

Ha! Show her for making him king.

His grin faltered when he noticed that there were a rather large number of young noblewomen in the room and they were all looking towards _him _now that Night had left with predatory smiles.

If he wasn't mistaken, most of the ones he recognised were unmarried.

Oh.

Never had the urge to crawl under a rock somewhere had been so strong.

* * *

"Alistair," Eamon's voice floated through his office.

"Shoot," the king brushed his face clean of any breadcrumbs then returned the plate to his co-conspirator. "Hide it," he hissed, frantically.

Mangy whined quizzically, took the plate in his mouth (ergh, never ever touching that again) and crawled underneath Alistair's desk.

He scrambled into his seat, re-arranged the papers Eamon had handed so it looked like he'd actually been doing work and not, say, taking a cheese break. "Come in," he called out, when everything was in place.

His chancellor stepped into the room, raised an eyebrow at the plain clothes Alistair was wearing and took a seat at the other side of the desk. In that time, Alistair had swiftly scanned the page about food shortages in Gwaren.

"Anora's doing a fine job with Gwaren's wheat shortage," Alistair said quickly. "We had no idea what the civil war was doing to the rest of Ferelden."

Eamon snorted. "You were spending most of your time in Orzammar and the Brecilian Forest. I'd have been surprised if you saw evidence of a wheat shortage there. But that's not why I'm here."

Damn. No wait, if Eamon had quizzed him on the reports he'd been caught out. That was good, right?

"Oh?" Alistair pretended to examine another report, hoping that Eamon wouldn't bring up what he sounded like he was going to bring up. Beneath the desk, he became aware of Mangy pressing hard against his leg and cutting off the circulation. Damn, that dog was big.

"Alistair," Eamon sighed and tapped Alistair's hand, bringing them face to face. "We have just come out of a civil war and a Blight. People are very, very relieved that the Blight is over, though there are still hordes of darkspawn on the surface that haven't been taken care off."

"Oh, is that it?" Alistair jumped at his chance of a diversion. "Night and I are only two people you know, can't run after all those darkspawn ourselves, despite some of the tales floating about. I really, really wish that one about us defeating the archdemon with nothing more than the purity and justness of our souls was true. Especially since we were on griffons at the time. Might make it easier to kill those marauding darkspawn if all we have to do is just walk up to them and be self-righteous and pure at them. What do you think Eamon, are my humble looks capable of smiting a darkspawn dead?"

The smallest smile flickered across the chancellor's face. "That is a question best reserved for the ladies, I'm afraid. And speaking of the ladies, it's been five months; might I ask your intentions towards Night?"

"With any luck, marriage," Alistair replied flippantly and Mangy gave an approving bark that wiped the shocked look from Eamon's face.

"Alistair, is that a mabari in your office?" he demanded incredulously, completely distracted.

"…yes," the king admitted, pulling the chair back and allowing the dog freedom. "I think you should return that to the kitchens," Alistair addressed Mangy seriously. "Tomorrow, same time?"

The dog barked an affirmative, then took the plate Alistair had tentatively picked from beneath the desk and was grasping carefully, avoiding the slobber. "Make sure they burn the plate," he added as an afterthought.

"I see," Eamon recovered eventually. "I take it you actually haven't read the report then on Gwaren's wheat shortage?"

"…it's Anora," Alistair protested. "Admittedly, I don't trust her enough to turn my back on her but I do trust her to be competent."

"Alistair, are you seriously considering marriage with Night?"

Shoot, he'd hoped Mangy had managed to surprise his words out of Eamon's head.

"Technically, yes. I've been considering marriage. And I've been considering Night. So I've considered them together so you could say marriage with Night."

"Maker's breath, Alistair, I know you're close but why?"

Hmmm, awkward question. How does one discuss such things with one of one's father figures?

"I know that having just had a civil war, people are nervous about the line of succession. And I know that she's a mage and an elf and completely, from a noble's perspective, unsuitable."

"I'm sensing a 'but' there, Alistair."

"I love her," Alistair said simply. "And I won't marry a woman just for the nation's convenience. Ever. It's not just Night. Even if we weren't together, I simply would not go out and pick a woman from the Bannorn like I would choose a fruit from a vendor's stall," he paused and amended mournfully. "Well, like I would have chosen a fruit from a vendor's stall. The palace guard isn't very big on letting me go anywhere unattended these days and I have a whole kitchen to prepare meals for me now."

"That is a very dangerous attitude for Ferelden's security," Eamon at last brought himself to say.

"Eamon, I don't want to be king. But I also happen to think I can do a lot of good for Ferelden by being king. There are things I've given up on, my life as a Grey Warden for instance, but I will not give every inch of my being to Ferelden. There must be some small part of me that I must retain, my feelings towards marriage being part of it."

The chancellor fell into deep thought at Alistair's words. The king settled back into his chair and waited for Eamon to gather himself, bracing himself for the unavoidable argument he had on his hands.

"Then what will you do?" the arl asked at last, surprising Alistair.

"Enjoy every moment I have with her now," Alistair said quietly. "Be king. Talk to Night and see what we can figure out. I haven't even breached the topic of marriage with her but I doubt that she'll push for it."

Eamon sighed and rose to his feet. "Very well," he said. "Public opinion of Night is, in fact, quite strong. Strong enough that I'm not attempting to dissuade you of this endeavour. But barely."

A knock at the door startled them both. Night, dressed in the plainest clothes she possessed and looking nothing like the so called "Hero of Ferelden," pushed the door open before Alistair had a chance to call her in.

"Night?" the elf was tense, face blank and emotionless and Alistair wondered how much of their conversation she'd overheard.

She held out a letter. "A Warden came from Weisshaupt. He needs to discuss Warden business with Alistair and I."

A slow grin began to creep across face. "But this is a letter about my appointment to Warden Commander."

Alistair's jaw dropped as he read the letter. "No way!" he exclaimed.

"If only I had this sooner," the elf grinned. "Every time you began pulling your distracting, delaying tactics, I could have pulled rank on you and got you to tell it straight to my face."

He gave a shudder. "I'm very, very glad that you didn't receive this earlier then," Alistair responded dryly.

The arrival of the Weisshaupt Warden drew their attention. Tall and hulking, the heavily tattooed warrior was the very image of a Grey Warden. Alistair could see Night was eying the heavy broadsword strapped to the man's back in fascination. She was probably wondering she could wield it with the help of her arcane warrior spells.

"This is Warden Erik," Night said, waving the man inside. "Warden Erik, His Majesty King Alistair and his Chancellor, Arl Eamon."

"Greetings, King Alistair," the man's voice a deep growl. "I believe congratulations are in order for your recent coronation."

"More like your deepest sympathies to Ferelden," Night muttered to herself, not realising she was thinking out loud.

Alistair's mouth flopped open in delight. "You did not just say that!" he exclaimed. "Getting a touch bit scatterbrained Night?"

"It's not my fault that your brand of stupidity is contagious," the mage defended herself sullenly, upset over the slip.

"My, my, juvenile insults demean you my dear Warden Commander," Alistair climbed to his feet and shook Erik's hand. "Welcome to Ferelden, brother. Eamon, if you will excuse us."

The arl of Redcliffe bowed briefly and then quietly left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Weisshaupt sends its congratulations on ending the Blight," Erik tilted his head and evaluated the two Ferelden Wardens. "Though the First Warden is most curious as to how you both survived. In Night's report, Warden Riordin died before slaying the archdemon."

Oh.

Shoot.

Alistair had forgotten about how they were going to answer this one. "We don't know," Night said, when it was clear Alistair couldn't think of anything.

"Pardon?" Erik narrowed his eyes a fraction and Alistair wanted to do nothing more but die under the man's scrutiny. "Surely you have some idea."

Oh _no. _Alistair shot Night a frantic look, she definitely wouldn't tell Erik what had happened, would she?

Apparently so.

"We travelled with a powerful mage from the Korcari Wilds. She knew of a ritual that apparently would allow us to slay the archdemon without dying. Since, I did not die when I killed the archdemon, it's a pretty safe assumption that I agreed to the ritual."

"What do you mean, a safe assumption?" Erik crossed his arms and leant across Alistair's desk.

"I do not remember neither agreeing to the ritual nor the ritual itself," Night gazed unflinchingly into the man's glare. "My memories of the event are gone, so I cannot tell you what my reasoning was at the time. And the mage left immediately after so we cannot ask her what happened."

"I see," Erik's impassive gazed swept over to Alistair. "What was this ritual?"

"Why are you asking me?" Alistair squeaked nervously. "I wasn't present when it happened. I walked into the room later and found Night unconscious on the floor."

"And when the archdemon died? What happened then?"

"I survived," Night said with a dismissive shrug. "I was knocked unconscious after I killed it however."

"So was I," Alistair chipped in, breaking his own solemn promise to never _ever _mention this part of the grand battle again because Erik was kind of scary. And after having a few ribs and cracked shins healed, he liked his bones unbroken. "Apparently, I wasn't in any condition to be walking or living at that point so that wasn't a surprise though."

Ah, yes, the ignorance plea. At least, Night had the sense to refrain from mentioning she'd been altered by the Old God…thing. That wouldn't have gone down well. And technically, they weren't lying. From what he understood, Night didn't remember anything beyond slaying the archdemon.

"This news is…disturbing," Erik said at last. "There has never been any mention of a ritual that would allow a Grey Warden to survive killing an archdemon."

"Tell me about it," Alistair muttered darkly. "I'd thought the Grey Wardens would be the first to know about this sort of thing."

"I will bring this information to the First Warden," Erik muttered, eyes troubled. "He will decide what to do with this information. But I would expect to see you at Weisshaupt sometime in the near future."

"I understand," Night replied calmly. "Perhaps the Wardens there would be able to discern what has happened."

"Very well. I will return to Weisshaupt immediately, I only came to Ferelden to deliver the letter and find out what has happened, and this information is most troubling. Good luck with your posting in Amaranthine," Erik nodded to them both, although they could hear him muttering something about the country smelling like wet dog, and then left the room.

"Amaranthine?" Alistair frowned at Night. "Why are you being posted to Amaranthine?"

Night gave an amused snort. "Are you so quick to forget you gave Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens?"

"I did?" Alistair groaned as the memory of the post Blight celebrations came to mind. "I did. But that's almost a week away from Denerim!"

The mage raised an eyebrow and he could tell she'd retreated back into herself. "So?"

He stared at her helplessly. He wanted her here, in the palace. And Alistair knew that she wouldn't allow it, not when she had a duty to uphold. They needed to make decisions soon, regarding them both.

"I need you here," Alistair blabbed, then bit his lip because he didn't _need _her here, he wanted her and Night was well aware of the distinction.

"It might be better for me to be gone for a while," Night said eventually, her face expressionless. "Perhaps it will be easier for us to decide where we go from here when we've had the chance to take a break from each other."

"Are you hoping that I'd meet a noblewoman I like and forget all about you in your absence?" Alistair asked shrewdly. "Because it's not going to happen."

"Not hope. It'd be easier though, if something like that happened."

"Night, why is it so hard for you to admit that you want this and don't want to give it up?"

The elf carefully studied her hands, so quiet that Alistair had the sinking feeling that she was going to pretend that he'd never asked the question and if she did then…something told him that it would be the end of things between them.

"My wants have nothing to do with the situation," she said at last.

"Actually, they are," the templar responded dryly. "They are actually kind of central to it, as it is. We can't decide on how to move forward without all the facts and I, for one, do not know what is going on in your head."

Night tilted her head at him, and he knew that the unspoken words, _but you could if you wanted to, _lay between them. "I am content with my life, Alistair. The Grey Wardens have provided me with everything I could need, freedom, purpose. I need nothing more."

He sighed; getting a concession of Night's feelings was going to be a long and difficult process. "But what do _you want_, Night? Because what you want matters to me."

She stared straight ahead, not at him, through him, at a fixed point of something only she could see, utterly still. For several minutes, she stood frozen into place and just when Alistair gave up any hope of getting anything out of her, "I want…you," all the life drained from her, as though finally letting the whispered words slip from her mouth had defeated her.

"Then don't fight me on this. It's okay to want things and lightening isn't going to strike you from the sky just because you have them," Alistair fought hard to keep himself from dancing in celebration; she'd finally said the words!

Night gave a weak smile. "It's easier to believe you don't want things and not have them, than to want things and not have them," she confessed quietly.

"You've left the Circle, Night. Nobody is ever going to send you back," he stepped forward and gazed earnestly into Night's fiery eyes, trying to will her into believing that this was her life _now_, and all she had to do was reach out and take it.

Night nodded eventually as she stared solemnly back into his eyes, and a huge grin swept across Alistair's face because she _understood _at last. "I do believe this is a cause for celebration," he said. "A private one. My room?"

She grinned, and it was beautiful to see her normally expressionless face to revel in happiness. "Our room," she corrected.

* * *

She left for Amaranthine the next month and Alistair was left cursing her absence. Not because Night was planning to run off, he'd finally impressed upon her that he was deadly serious, and she was beginning to hope that things would work out.

It was because somehow, her absence declared him as fair game to every unmarried noblewoman out there.

Alistair's Chantry life had left him completely innocent when it came to the opposite sex. It was rather of a miracle that he had something with Night at all. But whilst he had become accustomed to her, the same could not be said for the rest of her gender.

He'd actually tracked down Zevran for the sole purpose of using him as a shield. Luckily, the Antivan assassin was quite happy to comply.

"I believe that this is a case of 'one man's poison is another man's treasure,' no?" the elf announced as he happily trotted into Alistair's office one day, looking rather sated. "Although, I must admit, you're the only man I know for whom women are his 'poison.' My friend, are you quite sure that you don't sit on the other side of the fence?"

"No," Alistair groaned, reaching down to pat Mangy's head, Night had left the mabari with him. There were rumours beginning to circulate about _that _aspect of his sexuality. A month ago, he'd failed to have gotten the reference but Zevran had slowly been educating him against his will.

"A shame," Zevran settled himself into the chair opposite Alistair, watching the king read over the papers in front of him. Strangely enough, Alistair had discovered he had a gift for paperwork and often he merely used the papers as distractions, pretending to be busy when he'd otherwise finished work. "However, if there was one woman who could make me give up the rest, it would be your beloved. Is it true, those rumours about mages?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow and glanced up briefly at the assassin. "What rumours?" he asked warily, knowing he was going to regret it.

"That they use their magic to enhance the experience?" Zevran replied bluntly.

The templar groaned again and covered his face with the papers. "I'm not going to discuss that. Especially with you of all people!"

"And yet you did not deny it, fascinating. I did not think you had it in you to be adventurous."

"I did not say that," Alistair exclaimed, glaring at the elf.

"The redness of your cheeks say otherwise. Congratulations your majesty."


End file.
